A Renaissance of Pure Potentiality

We've always told our kids that it's not about the school grades, it's about doing their personal best and learning. Our oldest Beatrice would argue that we do care about grades, especially now that she's been in middle school for the past two-plus years. She's not completely wrong nor is she completely right on that one. For me, someone who grew up constantly striving to excel in school with the payoff being the grades, and the parental and peer recognition and social acceptance that came from that. What I didn't consciously realize then was that it wasn't so much about the learning; it was about being esteemed, even envied. 

It's different now. I'm different now. My wife Amy has definitely been more about pure potential and willingness to do our best, whatever the outcome, and I'm there now, too. Because the outcomes literally should be learning and growth as humans trying to traverse a lifetime of inevitable challenges and failures. Some self-imposed and many others brought on by others as well as circumstance. 

Our youngest Bryce has an easier time with her schoolwork overall than her big sister does. Don't get me wrong, even with Beatrice who struggles with math and reading, they both are thriving in school (Bea has an A+ in English -- and there's the grade pride thing again). Their grades reflect that, yes, but their entire daily exercise of living has translated to else their abilities to learn, adapt, and apply new insights to how they approach life as teens and beyond.

However, a lifetime of inevitable challenges and failures, whether self-imposed or not, isn't how life should be viewed exclusively. Yes, they will make decisions that won't be in their best interest. Yes, there may also come a time when they are discriminated against and opportunities withdrawn because of their gender, of who they are, of what they do.

But we want them to believe and breathe the Law of Pure Potentiality, that they can create anything, anytime, anywhere. This was one of our latest meditations and one that really resonated with me. It's based on the fact that we are, in our essential state, pure consciousness. Pure consciousness is pure potentiality; it is the field of all possibilities and infinite creativity. Pure consciousness is our spiritual essence.

Maybe we're not so far off when we tell our children they can be whoever they want to be and do whatever they want to do -- their spiritual essence is pure potential. The fact is that the challenges, limitations, and discrimination that can and will happen to them are all transitory -- they will still be able to create anything, anytime, anywhere. That includes creating love, empathy, happiness, and peace. 'Cause every little thing gonna be all right. Although I grew up a Christian, only now do I understand why others react so negatively when someone talks about their spirituality, their faith, and how God (our pure consciousness) provides. 

Our family's faith today is a renaissance of pure potentiality. Already both of our girls have started developing the ability to adapt, overcome, and to keep creating a positive vision of what's next. The latter being the biggest life differentiator of all. Grades may measure academic progress, while what we manifest measures the rest. 

BE HAPPY: But Watch Your Step

"Good morning, Beatrice. How are you this morning?"

"Happy!"

What a sweet thing to hear on a day when business world bullies punched me in the gut. What a crappy difference a hump day makes.

As I knelt crumpled over and holding my belly, I flashed back to my walk through Natural Bridges with the girls the weekend before. Both Beatrice and Bryce running around in the heart of the eucalyptus tree grove, us all laughing with abandon.

The girls kept running back and forth in front sign posted on the fence:

CAUTION: Watch Your Step

Bryce kept spinning and then eventually lost her footing and fell, giggling. Thankfully she wasn't hurt. Bea followed suit, but on purpose to be silly. It was such a fun time for me watching my girls play so freely and happily.

Being hit in the gut seemed inconsequential after that. Blows like that always do. I've learned to fight back and kill 'em with transcendent success. Screw the kindness (but don't tell my girls that).

BE HAPPY: But Watch Your Step. And sometimes it's okay to put all your B's in the same basket.

The act itself sure makes for empathic bookends

You know what hope is?
Hope is a bastard
Hope is a liar
A cheat and a tease
Hope comes near you?
Kick it's backside
Got no place in days like these…

--Picture Window, Ben Folds & Nick Hornby

He never read to us.

At least, I have no memory of hearing stories fall from his tobacco-stained lips, for me or for my sister. And if there were any, ever, they've long since faded like print on the yellowed page.

No, my father never read to us when we were children. He was never the bookish type, and the few times I saw him beyond the divorce, my bookishness was always a joke to him.

My mom read to us, though. A lot. That's what got me hooked on books. An addiction I embrace to this day in the middle age of young fatherhood.

We read to Beatrice while she still was still in the Mama and then kept the practice alive beyond the womb and then back again with Bryce.

The Mama and I both are avid readers, from the printed page to e-book, so it's hard for me to imagine those who aren't, especially with their children. And there are a lot. No judgement other than it's so important for learning and language development and for reinforcing the imagination's synaptical backstops.

You know, the magical ability to adapt when the balls are comin' too fast. Or when your mom's being thrown against it. Or you. Agaist the wall. Againt the floor. Or the door.

Seriously. The little boys I watch at the women's center have lived in varying levels of domestic violence, just as my sister and I did when we were children. This week I read them books and they were riveted, leaning against me on either side as well as scrambling for my lap.

This from rough-and-tumble boys, who although are fairly well-adjusted considering their circumstances, are still boys who are loud and break stuff and are angry and frustrated and I bet, at times, think hope is a liar, a cheat and a tease.

Until they were read to.

Now, I'm not saying that reading alone is the simple antidote that reverses a destructive environment, but the repetitive act itself sure makes for empathic bookends.

We could use a lot more of those.